The Littlest Musketeer
by RisingStorm15
Summary: Athos is working late when his wife Milday comes running to him in tears, or the one shot in which four year old D'artagnan is kidnapped by the red guards his papa Athos and his uncles are sure to pursue them to the ends of the earth.


Athos hated long nights in his office.

When he'd agreed to become the musketeer captain after Treville's promotion he had not anticipated the sheer amount of paperwork that would be necessary to his position. Just how had Treville done it?

His lamp cast a soft glow through the room, illuminating it just enough to be able to read his letters and missives.

His mind drifted, however, and soon he found himself struggling to focus on the words in front of him as his thoughts turned to his wife and child back home, causing a smile to grace his features.

Milady De Winter had been the woman he'd dreamed of ever since he'd laid eyes on her and they'd married in Summer. As the compte, he often found himself having to deal with disputes on his land and his skills were formidable. After aiding a troop of musketeers including their captain as they were attacked crossing his land, he'd been pleasantly surprised to be offered a position within their ranks if he wished it. He was even more surprised that he'd accepted. Allowing his trusted tenants to take care of the estate he had purchased rooms in Paris and he and his wife had lived there ever since.

It had been after four years with the musketeers where he had forged a lasting friendship with Porthos and Aramis and the captain himself, that Milady had tenderly taken his hand with tears of joy in her eyes and stated the best words he'd ever heard pass her lips.

"Athos, I'm pregnant".

Their son had been the most gorgeous thing he'd ever laid eyes on, besides his mother of course. The baby had opened its eyes and raised its pudgy little fists at him curiously, cooing up at the face that looked down at him.

They'd named him Charles D'artagnan after Milady's grandfather.

Little D'artagnan was now four years old, soon to be five, and the little tyke was always full of bubbling energy and life.

Putting his signature to yet another mind-numbing missive, he was startled out of the monotony when Brujon, one of the youngest recruits and frequent babysitters, raced through the door followed by a tear stained Milady who let out a soft sob at the sight of him.

His wife barely ever cried over anything and to see her in such a state meant that something terrible had happened indeed.

He stood from his desk, nodding to Brujon so the young recruit could leave them to talk.

Milady's sobs slowed and Athos held her close to his chest, confusion clear in his sky blue eyes.

"Athos they took him! They took D'artagnan!"

Athos' breath caught in his throat and grasped his wife's shoulders tightly, staring her with wide eyes.

"What? Who took him? How did this happen?"

"We were at home and I was finishing our dinner when they broke down the door. I killed two of them and injured more, Athos but one of them got D'artagnan, he was crying for me as they put a knife to his throat. I got tied up and one of them must have hit me because when I woke up he was gone. They had red uniforms, and I recognised some of them," Milady explained shakily, the occasional sob breaking through.

"Red guards," Athos growled at her description.

Two weeks ago he had ordered a mission to stop a dangerous man selling secrets about the king to the Spanish, upon finding him they had discovered that the red guards had been turning a blind eye to his actions for some time. Athos had gone to the king with the news of his capture and had publically humiliated the red guards for their acquiescence to the target's dealings.

Anger coursed through Athos' veins at the thought of his son in the hands of the red guards who clearly despised his role as the musketeer captain. He could clearly picture D'artagnan's face, the wide brown eyes full of tears as he sobbed for his papa and his uncles to save him.

"I'll get our son back my dear, I promise you that by morning he will be safe".

Athos stormed down the stairs to the courtyard, catching the eye of Brujon and Bauer, two of the younger musketeer trainees. Apparently Brujon had told a few of the men about a possible problem because more merged at the sight of him.

"Bauer, go and alert Aramis and Porthos to meet me here, everyone else I want you scouring every known place that we have seen red guards frequent. My son has been kidnapped by those bastards and we are getting him back," Athos ordered, voice cutting through the tense silence like a dagger.

Immediately the curious faces of his men turned stone-like, their mouths turning down in to furious scowls.

D'artagnan was always frequenting the garrison to bring Athos his lunch.

The little boy would race through the entrance and say hello to every single musketeer before delivering the small cloth wrapped meal to his father's office. Even when Athos was not there he would still come if only to spend time with the musketeers he loved so much.

In turn they loved him back. It was as though light spilled in to the garrison when little D'artagnan scampered in, face smudged with dirt and his smile lighting up his face at the sight of his man uncles in the courtyard. At Christmas time the boy would give a gift to every musketeer and decorate the whole garrison with his drawings and ribbons.

The king himself even had a fondness for the boy after Athos and Milady had attended a royal ball in honour of a musketeer victory, and little D'artagnan had accompanied them. The king had immediately caught sight of the small little boy beside his captain who had bowed so deeply he'd fallen over himself. From then on the king had allowed the boy to also call him uncle Louis.

D'artagnan had no perception of what an uncle really was considering he had no blood uncles.

The musketeers needed no prompting to begin their search, immediately buckling on their weapons and racing out of the garrison on their steeds. Watching them grimly, Athos made his way to the armory, knowing his brothers would find him there, he would stock himself for battle and raise hell to find his baby boy.

Aramis and Porthos arrived at the same time, both flushed against the night chill but fury lighting their eyes.

"Some of the men have reported back and negated some of the search sights," Athos greeted, nodding grimly to his brothers in arms as he did so.

Porthos scowled and punched the wooden post beside him head.

"They touch one hair on his head and I'll break their necks! Any word of a ransom or message yet?" he growled once he'd gained control of himself.

Athos shook his head swiftly.

"It's only a matter of time until they send something, or better yet someone, I suggest we stay here for a while longer and see if any missives come for you, if not then we'll search the whole city," Aramis suggested, watching as his brothers agreed with his plan.

Arming themselves as they waited for any notice, Aramis suddenly leapt to his feet, lifting his pistol to level at the gate, causing Porthos and Athos to stiffen warily.

"Show yourself in the name of the king's musketeers!" Athos yelled in to the slight fog that graced the streets.

His statement was met with silence until a crossbow bolt slammed in to the table next to Porthos' resting hand.

Porthos swore loudly as the bolt landed, and Aramis was immediately taking hand to look for damage.

"Damn it Aramis it didn't hit me, but it had a letter attached, probably for you Athos," Porthos hissed, yanking his hand back from his pedantic friend.

Athos caught sight of a rolled parchment attached by a string to the flight feathers and he ripped the note off, immediately unfurling it.

 _A child's pain_

 _Crying for their papa as they lay as bait_

 _Our joy and merriment is great_

Athos' heart dropped in his chest as he realized that the parchment was damp with soggy patches, damp with the tears of his son. A red smear in the shape of a small child's handprint signed the parchment and soon the paper was shaking in his hands.

"I'll kill them, so swear me I'll kill them all for this!" Porthos thundered as he read over Athos' shoulder, coming to the same conclusion.

Athos read the words again and stopped suddenly, a thought rearing itself in his mind.

"It's obviously a trap since they said 'lay as bait' but 'our joy and merriment is great', where do you usually find the most joy and merriment?" Athos murmured, eyes narrowing in thought.

"A tavern," they answered in unison.

Aramis' eyes lit with excitement as he ripped the parchment from Athos' hands.

"Out of the three taverns the red guards frequent, The Red Raven is the closes to your lodgings and presuming they were trying to hide a child would you not choose the swiftest place to hide him?" Aramis deduced, buckling his pistol back in to his holster.

"Gentlemen I believe we need a drink".

Having met with Brujon and Bauer on the way they instructed Bauer, the fastest runner of the musketeers to gather any patrols they found and tell them to join them for an assault on the tavern. Brujon accompanied them, slinking along timidly as he realized just how important the success of this raid was to the garrison. The stalked the streets of palace in a tight knit group, fingers twitching towards their weapons at any given moment as they neared The Red Raven and heard the raucous laughter of several drunk voices.

"Aramis, go and see what you can hear outside the walls, we'll cover you," Athos ordered quietly.

Nodding diligently Aramis crouched as he sprinted to the shadowed wall, keeping low in case of watchmen. Pressing his ear to the thin stone wall and attempting to hear conversation over the rowdy drunkards, he thought he detected the sound of crying.

"If you don't shut up you stupid runt I'll give you a reason to cry!"

A moment later Aramis heard a loud screech of pain and renewed crying.

"Oi leave the runt alone Jean".

"I'll do what I damn well please, boy is a filthy musketeer's scum".

"Don't talk about them like that," a small voice demanded.

Aramis felt relief well within him at a conformation that the boy was at least unharmed enough to speak and indeed inside the building. Determination filled him, a desire to see his nephew home safe.

A loud crash could be heard over the din of the tavern and Aramis felt his relief swept away by fear as he heard no more crying.

Sprinting back to Athos and the others he noticed that more musketeers had joined them.

"He's in there Athos but he's scared and I think they hurt him".

Athos cursed under his breath before focusing on the task at hand, surveying the group before him.

"Alright I want all exits covered, we move in as a unit and fight whoever draws a weapon, securing D'artagnan is our utmost priority," Athos murmured, waiting for nods of approval from those gathered.

Crouching low with weapons drawn his men stalked to both entrances to the tavern, waiting for Athos to give the go ahead to knock down the doors and attack.

Athos raised his sword, nodding to Porthos who grinned as he slammed his heavy boots in to the door, sending it flying inwards with a loud crack.

"With a ferocious yell Porthos led the charge with musketeers streaming in by both exits to swarm towards red guards in various stages of drunkenness who bared their weapons in reply.

Athos paused just inside the doorway, seeing his friends and comrades engaging their foe he took a moment to scan the room and his gaze zeroing in on a sight that made his blood boil with rage and his vision seem to tint red.

D'artagnan was tied to a chair in the corner, head dipping to his chest as he fought to keep his eyes open, the half of his face not covered by his hair was covered in blood. Silent tears cut tracks through the grime and blood, painting a miserable picture of a terrified child captive.

"Aramis with me!" Athos yelled, gaining the attention of his friend who had just released another musket ball.

Aramis started to fight his way towards D'artagnan as Athos did the same, cutting down any red guard that dared stand in his way.

Athos was about to reach his son, battling a foe as he did so, when a shriek from D'artagnan had him freeing in his tracks.

A red guard with a prominent scar of his cheek stood behind D'artagnan, a lighted torch in hand as he grabbed the boy's hair tightly, causing small whimpers to escape the boy's throat and tears to splash down anew.

"Not another step musketeer or I blow this whole tavern. There's enough alcohol in here to start an inferno and you wouldn't want anything to happen to your little boy now would you?" The red guard sneered, yellowed teeth glinting in the light of his flame.

Athos's grip tightened on his sword but he gritted his teeth, knowing that any false move would endanger his son.

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he caught sight of the small and quiet Brujon sneaking beneath the tables, rapier drawn in his slightly shaking hand.

"Let us talk about this like gentlemen, what's your name?" Athos asked cautiously.

The red guard seemed taken aback by a lack of visible anger and he stammered slightly, tightening his grip of a whimpering D'artagnan.

"What's it to you?" he replied, eyes narrowed as he studied the musketeer captain.

Athos saw Brujon rising behind the red guard and he smirked slightly.

"Because I should know the name of who I bring to the king for kidnapping his favourite nephew".

The red guard's confusion was evident moments before Brujon's rapier hilt slammed in to the back of his head and he fell forward, smacking the table as he went.

D'artagnan's seat dipped forward with the momentum and Brujon leaped forward to steady it before the fighting resumed with the loss of threat, Porthos lunging over to stamp out the flame.

Athos and Aramis knelt quickly in front of the chair, Athos immediately sawing the ropes that bound his son before drawing the boy in to a crushing hug.

" Oh my boy, you're okay, papa's here now," Athos crooned as tears and blood wet his shoulder where D'artagnan's face rested.

Pulling back so Aramis could assess his son, Athos took in the glazed and teary eyes and the sizeable cut and bruising on his son's temple. Aramis gently probed the wound, causing a squeak of discomfort from D'artagnan, prompting Athos to attempt to hold his hand. This was aborted when another cry of pain made Athos pause to see the oddly bent fingers of D'artagnan's left hand.

"D'art, what happened to your hand?" Aramis asked when Athos pointed to the appendage.

"I cried too much, uncle Aramis".

Athos inwardly cursed every red guard in Paris before gently taking D'artagnan's other hand.

"You can cry as much as you like my pup, I know it hurts," Athos murmured softly.

"I was so scared papa, but I knew you'd come for me, you always said you would if anything happened. Is mama okay? They hurt her too when she cried for me".

Athos gripped the little hand tighter as Aramis finished, motioning for Athos to lift his son in to his arms.

Hoisting him up, he made sure to cradle the wounded hand against the boy's chest and rest his small head on his shoulders.

"Mama is just fine, she's waiting for you back at the garrison and will be very happy to see you safely home".

They borrowed some horses from where the red guards had tethered them and while Athos ordered most of the musketeers to round up prisoners and send them to the Chatele, he, Aramis and Porthos rode back to the garrison with D'artagnan cradled securely in to Athos's arms and burrowed beneath his cloak.

The boy seemed to have no desire to reemerge from his hiding place beneath the blue folds until they reached the garrison where he peeped his head out at the call of his name.

Milady, poised at the top of the staircase at the sound of hoof beats, had rushed down the stairs, calling the name of her son in excited tones.

Swinging a leg over the side of his horse, Athos embraced his wife, squishing D'artagnan between them as Milady embraced her beloveds with a relieved sigh.

They broke apart when a grinning Aramis and Porthos coughed pointedly.

"Athos, I believe you and Milady should see about talking to the king about what has transpired, we will take care of D'artagnan's injuries and keep him safe and warm in bed," Aramis assured.

Athos handed D'artagnan over to Porthos before helping his wife up on to Aramis' horse as he mounted his own.

Watching them gallop towards the gates D'artagnan felt tears slide over his cheeks again.

"Mama, papa," D'artagnan whimpered slightly as his parents faded out of sight.

Porthos clutched he boy tighter as he and Aramis trekked towards the infirmary.

"None of that now, D'art, you can come with us and your uncle Aramis will make all the hurts go away while your mama and papa go see uncle Louis".

D'artagnan nodded tearfully and wrapped his one good arm around Porthos' neck for stability as he was lowered on to a medical bed.

Sitting down on the edge of it, Porthos smoothed down the wild hair of the most beloved child in his world.

"You've had quite the adventure today then haven't you?" Porthos chuckled warmly.

Aramis snorted over by the cabinet as he collected all the things he needed.

" That's an understatement".

D'artagnan giggled, brown eyes wide and sincere as he gazed at the uncles he loved.

"I was scared but I knew you'd all come, the red man said you wouldn't. He lied a lot," D'artagnan chirped.

Aramis sashayed over to the bed, sitting down on the other side of it and placing his supplies on a stool.

"Well red guards do say a lot of bad things D'art, and they also do bad things like hurt people. I brought you a drink, you must be thirsty".

D'artagnan nodded vigorously, the sheer amount of tears having dried out his throat terribly, and he was lifted gently by Porthos so Aramis could help him drink from his favourite cup.

When his thirst was quenched he was laid back down, and he sighed in content, feeling the throbbing pain from his head and hand start to blur and fade out of focus.

"When I grow up I'm going to be the bestest musketeer ever! Just like you and papa," D'artagnan murmured softly as his slipped closed.

Aramis hummed in agreement as he gently ran his fingers through the boy's hair, coaxing him further towards sleep as the boy's breathing evened out.

Sufficiently drugged with a light dose of opioid and finally pain free and peaceful whilst Aramis begun his work, D'artagnan's dreams slipped to the streets of Paris where he rode beside his papa and his uncles on a magnificent black steed, sword drawn and pauldron shining. He really would be the best of them all one day but for now they were content to see him stay the littlest musketeer.


End file.
